It’s raining

There’s water in the suitcase,
in the wardrobe. Wet clings to us
like cold fabric.
Even Tiago can’t believe the weather:
it’s not usually this wet, you know?
Water sprays off the road as he veers
his tuk-tuk past São Jorge.
I pretend to hear what he is saying
about old town, saudade,
but the rain is an immense shell against my ear.

At the sardine shop, there’s enough tinned fish
to last a lifetime. A pin-up girl
wraps her legs around a can of tuna,
fat with satisfaction. We buy a tin.
Vow to save it for a special occasion.

The iron foundry is now a museum.
We measure body heat with infra-red,
both our heads hot crimson
dancing like full bowls of soup.
We order black tea – obrigado, obrigado.
Still raining. I spill the milk,
lose one umbrella, count thirty cats.

At twilight, we pass through
Santa Apolónia, feel the whole world pause
as a night-train pulses along the tracks.
Destination: Madrid.
The pull of it is exceptional.
Something about its steel grey –
a grey that marinates the brain,
one hundred desperate sardines.
We linger at the platform
pretend for a moment
that Madrid is a practical solution
then turn, aware of moonlight
smudged in thick puddles. Damp so deep
you could mistake it for madness.

From the notebook:

1. Time Out Market – for taking photos, browsing food stalls and buying small momentos.
2. Kaffehaus – for delicious Austrian dishes and cosy booths to nest in whilst reading travel books.
3. Loja das conservas – for buying beautifully packaged tins of fish, for looking at beautifully packaged tins of fish.
4. Topo Martim Moniz – for sweeping views across the old town and fancy-but-affordable cocktails.
5. MAAT museum – for modern art in old industrial site.
6. Alcoa – for the best pastel de nata in Lisbon.